The Tugging of the Sleeves
by yanayada
Summary: slash DMHP. Something you needed to know- want you to know now. Why does Harry Potter feel like he's looking from another POV- literally?


The tugging of the sleeves.

Chapter one: back of the mind

This was odd. And being me, Harry Potter, finding a situation odd, it was obvious and guaranteed that it truly was.

When had Hermione's feet ever been this large?

The feet in question shuffled nervously under my puzzled scrutiny and I slowly lifted my gaze…

And the feet went back to normal. That is, the normal size of Hermione's feet.

And walked nearer to me, tiptoed, and I felt Hermione's familiar, exquisitely soft lips melt against mine.

"Is my face that repulsive that you have to stare at my feet instead?" she murmured against me, and I felt her lips curl into a smile against mine. I let my tongue slip out to trace Hermione's lips teasingly, even as I puzzled over the mystery of the feet. They had not _shrunk, _exactly, I realized, as I wrapped my arms over my girlfriend of 6 months and rubbed the small of her back softly. It was almost as if… as if I was looking at things from another point of view.

Literally.

Not for the first time.

But Voldermort could hardly be standing in full view of everyone on Platform 9¾, could he? I remembered, that when I had had been staring at those abnormally large feet, that the chatter and general noise around me was tee same. Perhaps had come disguised as a miniature Tom Riddle once more, reincarnated? As a first-year so as not to attract attention?

Now wouldn't that make the war a pushover.

I disentangled myself form Hermione, and grinned when I saw her lips slightly redder than usual, and a few silky strands sticking to her forehead. She was so beautiful. And the girl didn't even have an inkling of the fact.

Though a lot of other people did.

I was about to let Hermione go when I suddenly locked gazes with one of them. Draco Malfoy.

I tightened my hold around Hermione and deliberately placed a hand on her slim hip, maintaining the gaze with the blond wizard. Savouring the narrowing of his platinum eyes, I lifted a corner of my mouth as Hermione instinctively slipped her arm around me. If there was something that I knew I would always have one up over Draco Malfoy, it would be Hermione. So I guarded her obsessively, possessively. And he knew that; he was the one who gaze her to me.

I had loved Hermione since the 6th year. Loved her intelligent brown eyes, bright and sparkling, her pure, pink lips (_one mine, preferably_) and her wild, untamed mane. Apparently, so had Malfoy.

And it had always been a race between the two of us. For me, although it appeared that I had had the headstart, with her being my best friend, it was actually a setback. I had never liked my rewards to come served out on a silver platter before me. What I wanted was a challenge to work for, and I had trouble with the idea that I could imply reach out to take the one ting I wanted.

Malfoy loved a challenge. The boy was an enigma, how he would willingly fight tooth and nail for something that his own father considered filth, I could never understand. Not that he ever tried to make it known why, as he had never changed in his attitude towards the rest of the school.

So Hermione was his.

I also never really will understand how I just allowed myself to stand back and watch as Draco Malfoy seduced Hermione Granger to lust and to love. Systematically. Successfully. Serpentlike. Because he was Draco Malfoy, he always got what he wanted, and was quite capable of annihilating anything in his way, just like Dudley did to his electronic aliens. And he wanted Hermione very badly.

Malfoy, I mean. Not Dudley. Merlin, no.

Perhaps I did know why I watched like a fool from the sidelines. Though Ron hadn't, and our friendship was in severe danger of snapping whenever I refused to intervene properly whenever there was a chance for Malfoy to further entice Hermione Granger into the dark side.

That was why all of us had been as flabbergasted as we were furious when Malfoy _discarded _Hermione. The bastard had selected her very birthday to dump her, in the week just before the summer holidays. Sauntering up to the Gryffindor table like he owned the place, Malfoy had pulled Hermione's head back so roughly that she gasped in pain, and opened her mouth with a stunned "Draco, what-"

Ron and I had stood simultaneously, knocking over our galsses of pumpkin juice. But we all froze when he lowered his head into a heartbreakingly gentle kiss, his long-fingered hands stroking Hermione's throat as her own small hands lifted to encircle the back of his head.

The kiss begin getting rougher. By now, the entire Great Hall was deathly silent, their attention riveted on the paradox that was of the sworn enemies, a Pureblood and a Mudblood, the Light and the Dark, kissing so… passionately. It was also the first and last time this would ever happen, we thought, and the last time they would make love so publicly.

Draco started nipping at Hermione's lips, pushing his against hers harder and we could see his tongue working within her mouth. His hand around her neck tightened, and Hermione tensed up, making frightened whimpers, although she kept her hands around his head.

Just as suddenly as he had begun The Kiss, Malfoy broke it off. With his white-blond hair dishevelled, his eyes unusually bright and panting slightly, he straightened up and brushed off his robe. And sneered at Hermione. "That's the last time you'll ever be privileged, Mudblood, the last time I'll ever touch you, and you, me. Now, go hang out with people nearer to your rank." With that, Draco Malfoy shoved Hermione towards me, sending her toppling, catatonic, into my lap.

And I think that I was the only one who saw his hands linger wistfully, one last time, on her shoulders.

I think I was the only one who saw the pure, white-hot pain of heartbreak explode in his eyes when they locked with mine for a millisecond as he pushed his trophy, although she was also much more than that to him, towards me.

And I think that Draco Malfoy knew that I knew.

Whatever one said about him, it had to be agreed that Malfoy always knew what he was doing. So he also knew that pushing Hermione towards me would activate my in-built hero complex to console the damsel in distress. He had handed her to me on a platter to me, yes; but he had handed to labyrinthine problem of piecing back a broken girl.

For the months afterwards, Ron and I would frantically owl Hermione daily if we could not arrange to meet. Perhaps this was what I needed, this distraction. To take my mind off the fact that Voldemort was indeed growing steadily stronger, but for come reason had decided to leave me alone that sixth year. Dumbledore guessed that the Dark Lord, a term which he never used, was now biding his time so as to fully solidify his foundations and gather up all his power; not to waste his- resources- with trivial attacks that had higher chances of being messed up.

There was now more reason to fear.

As I stepped onto the train, it happened again. The step I was about to get onto wavered and morphed into a large lake. Truly. Black and rippling, a slimy, sinister-looking tentacle reached out, poised to strike, and I tumbled back in shock…

Right into Hermione and Ron. We all tumbled to the ground in a whirl of dust and robes.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you, Harry? The step bites?" Ron said exasperatedly, his ears reddening as the crowd around us laughed before sidestepping to get onto the train. He pointed his wand towards me with a quick _Reparo. _Sitting up and coughing, I helped Hermione up and shook my head uncertainly. "I don't… know."

"Perhaps he's finally gone round the bend as his precious Dumbledore," the caustic, icy voice cut through the group milling around us like a knife. "What, the train's not good enough for you? No empty cabin for you and your filthy whore to procreate in?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Just as I opened my mouth, Hermione was standing in front of me, her wand already drawn and grazing the tip of Malfoy's perfectly straight, aristocratic nose. "I have had enough of you. I swear I'll Avada Kedavra you if you ever dare to insult of even talk to me, Harry, or Ron any more."

And she was serious. Merlin, the girl had changed, because she actually had performed the Killing Curse, once, over the holidays, and barely shed a tear over it. I knew that Malfoy knew it.

Instead of backing off and running like hell, Malfoy did the unthinkable. Capturing Hermione's glare with his masked pierce, he smiled, slowly. Carefully. Seductively. Her wand wavered, hypnotized.

He lifted up a finger to place on the tip of her wand, caressed it, pushed it down. Hermione did nothing to stop him.

Draco Malfoy then turned to me, taking no notice of my hand grasping my own wand. Leaning so close that our noses touched, he whispered, silver eyes glinting, "Now, tell your little Mudblood to stay away from me, if she wants to get through this year even partly alive."

And then his face changed into that of Lucius Malfoy's.

It just did, if for a split second.

Then Malfoy smirked, and pushed past me into the train.


End file.
